Title: Charming Beauty Bright
Characters: Jasper and Edward
Rating: M (for mild lemons and allusions to depression and suicide)
Word Count: 2497
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I am responsible for what I've done to her characters in this story.
Summary: Sometimes little epiphanies can be life-changing. An entry for the Love Lost Contest.
To see all entries in the "Love Lost" Contest, please visit the author profile: www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/u/2458839/Love_Lost_Contest
When I come here it is easy to remember him. If I close my eyes until I'm squinting through narrow slits I can almost see him, ankle-deep in the waves. He is looking back over his shoulder and smiling at me. The soft light catches in his hair, golden reflections dancing. He holds out a hand, and I can't breathe. I want to go to him, so badly.
Two children and a dog run through the water, and their squeals and splashes distract me from my thoughts. I open my eyes and he is gone. I miss him with an ache so strong I can only pull in short breaths as I wrap my arms around tucked-up knees and rock gently forward and back as I fight to keep the tears from spilling over. I know if I weaken, if I let the pain out of the cage, I will be unable to stop. I will wail and scream and sob until the sun dies, the stars go out, the moon falls from the sky, and I would still have this grief like a stone around my neck. I cannot go on like this. It is a joke to think I come to remember him; the truth is I remember him too well. With every beat of my heart I miss him, every stone, every tree, every grain of sand reminds me of him. The pain lances up once more and I stifle a sob as the tears win, trailing silver rivers down my cheeks.
I lift my head, gazing blindly out to sea. There is a child with a dog standing next to me.
"Why you crying?"
Her voice is kind, her soft accent wrapping round the words and handing them to me like a gift. I force myself to breathe slowly.
"I miss my friend."
Such a brief explanation, so few words to try and explain the pain of half my heart being torn from me. I am an empty shell, a walking corpse. She looks at me and nods.
"Was he your best friend?"
"He was the best friend I've ever had. He was kind, and gentle, and fierce, and strong. He was funny and silly and loving. He was so much fun. The time I had with him was the happiest I have ever been."
I pause and glance at her, briefly wondering where her parents are and if they'd be worried to see her talking to a strange man who clearly is not in full possession of his mental faculties.
"Where has he gone? You could go too and then you'd be happy."
Her words resonate oddly inside my chest. She has no idea how close I have come to following him. The long sleep would be an end to this pain, the grief and the guilt gnawing at me every day. She is looking at me expectantly.
"He died."
My voice sounds flat. I cannot tell a young child of the months of sadness, where nothing I said or did could help. I cannot tell her how his lively smile had been buried under the weight of days, how I begged and pleaded with him to show me how to make it better. I cannot tell her how I would wrap my arms around his shoulders and know that he was still falling away from me, sinking deeper into the dark and I had no way to pull him back. I cannot tell her of the nights of tears and panic, when his terrified eyes burned into mine as he sobbed and shook and clung to me. I cannot tell her of the days I spent cooking all his favourite meals, trying in vain to make him eat because watching the flesh melting from his bones cut me to the quick. I cannot tell her of the horror of all the mornings I woke up alone, when I would run outside and down to the sea, catching his cold hands and leading him out of the surf. I cannot tell her of that last awful morning when I slept too long, how when I reached the sea he was not there. I cannot tell her how I ran from one cliff to the other, screaming his name and frantically looking out to sea. I cannot tell her of the coastguards and lifeboats that spent hours searching while I sat on the sand and prayed to a god I had never believed in. I cannot tell her of the agony when the policewoman held my hand and told me they'd found him washed up two miles down the coast. I cannot tell her how I had to identify his body, his skin waxy and cold. He was wearing the shirt I'd loved best, the one I always made him wear when I wanted to show him off, the one that made everyone who saw him seethe with jealousy. I cannot tell her how the pieces of my heart finally broke apart when a postcard came through the letter box with the message: "It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I love you." I cannot tell her how I had sagged against the door and slid to the floor as I cried and wished for the chance to go back, that I'd set my alarm, that I'd heard his footsteps as he'd left me for the last time.
The child is looking at me. How long have I been staring at the water while my mind replays those last, awful days and months? She pulls on the dog's collar and drags the animal closer to me.
"Stroke him," she instructs me. "You'll feel better."
I look at her, bemused. Impatient, she grabs at my hand and moves it over the soft fur on top of the animal's head. The dog has a thick, short coat, soft on his head and coarser over his neck and back. As I gently slide a silken ear between my fingers the knot in my throat eases slightly.
The girl is watching me with approval. "Told you it would help. He's a good dog, isn't he? You shouldn't be sad any more."
I mange a small smile. A whistle pierces the air, the dog breaks from under my hand and dashes away across the sand. I watch him, easy athletic strides eating the distance. He is heading for a couple. The man has a small boy perched on his shoulders. The woman is waving; I can see she is calling but I can't hear her from this distance.
"That's my mum and dad. I have to go now. Will you be okay?"
I look at her, straighten my back, and nod. "I'll be fine. Thank you."
She tilts her head, scrutinising me. "You should think of happy things. Your friend wouldn't want you to be sad."
She lunges forward and throws her arms around my neck in a hard hug. Before I can respond, she's off, running to her parents in the inefficient way children do. Her mother bends forward and spreads her arms wide, catching her and swinging her up and around in a big circle before setting her down. I can see she's talking, and then the family all turn and wave to me. I raise a hand in reply and watch as they walk away, the dog running in circles around them.
I ponder her last words. She is right, Edward would not have wanted me to be sad. We had a wealth of happy memories before the end. This beach was one of our favourite places. He loved exploring the small caves and poking around in rock pools. I can still see his childish grin when he played with sea anemones.
"How have you not done this before?" I teased. "You must have had a deprived childhood."
"Evidently so, all those educational trips to historical landmarks were such a waste, huh?"
He poked another anemone, giggling as the tentacles clung to his fingertip. I watched his hand as he slowly pulled back, stretching the anemone's reach before it reluctantly released him. He wiggled his fingers in the water, winding a thin piece of seaweed round them; the bright green a startling contrast to his pale skin. He gently untangled himself and poked around the edges of the pool. Suddenly he yelped and yanked his hand back, showering me with drops of salty water as I saw a tiny crab scuttle from one side of the rock pool to the other, disappearing under a small overhang.
"It bit me!" Edward's face was a picture, all shock and hurt.
"Aww, there, there, poor sweetheart." I couldn't keep the giggle and the teasing tone out of my voice, and he turned away from me with an indignant huff, his shoulders sagging.
Rolling my eyes at his over-dramatic tendencies, I climbed to my feet and scrambled over the rocks until I was looking up at his face. His forehead was creased with the slight upset, and his lips were pursed out slightly. He still refused to look at me, playing the injured martyr for all it was worth. I reached out and took the damaged hand, gently unfolding his long, slender fingers. There was a small red mark on the pad of his index finger, and I brought it up to my lips, kissing it gently, darting out my tongue and tasting the unmistakable saltiness of the sea. I kissed from the tip of his finger down to his palm, then turned his hand over and kissed the other side of his finger from the knuckle to the nail.
"There. All better." I looked up with a smile to find his gaze fixed on me, his expression tense.
"The others feel left out now, though." He wiggled his fingers.
"Well, that's easily rectified," I said, taking hold of both his wrists in one hand.
I trailed a hand down from his wrists, over his palms and flattening out his fingers towards me. I kissed every part of his hands, softly stroking them at the same time. I took each finger carefully into my mouth, sucking gently and kissing each one before I moved to the next. I placed one last kiss on the injured finger.
"There, all better now."
"The rest of me feels left out now, though." His eyes bored into mine, trapping my gaze as he reached out and pulled me up to him. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed a hand on his back, pulling us closer together as his lips found mine. We kissed each other frantically, lips pushing hard together as hands slid up and down and slipped under shirts as we sought the feel of each other's skin against our own. We broke apart, panting. I clambered away across the rocks, heading for the space that Edward always referred to as the hidey-hole. A couple of large rocks had fallen together, forming a three-sided room against the cliff. We would not be entirely hidden here, but at least we were no longer in direct view of everyone else on the beach. I could hear Edward hot on my heels as I scrambled into the space, and then his hands were tugging at my shirt, pulling it over my head as I fumbled with his buttons. Finally we were free and we fell together once more. I threw my head back, loving the feel of his soft, warm lips and the scratch of his chin as he kissed down the side of my neck and over my collarbone.
I groaned as he kissed his way down my chest and over my belly, his hands exploring my shoulders and on down to my hips. He moved back up over me and I looked up into his eyes, the sunlight glinting in his hair. He smiled at me and kissed me, long, slow, and gentle. I could feel his love for me and mine for him in the air around us, in the rocks and sand below, the sky above and the in the vastness of the sea. We held each other close for a moment as we whispered what the sea and the sky already knew. We stroked and kissed and pushed at each other until hands found themselves exploring past button flies and under waistbands. My fingers wrapped around him, and I stroked and squeezed as his hips bucked towards me. His cool fingers held me tight and he gripped and stroked as I moved under him. We pressed closer together, holding tighter and moving faster and breathing harder. I felt him drawing nearer and nearer the edge and I followed him closer and closer until first he and then I fell over it, gasping and shuddering and collapsing boneless together. We held each other and giggled like teenagers. We had nothing to clean ourselves with, so Edward decided the sea would have to do it for us. We stripped off until we were dressed only in our pants, with the tell-tale damp patches clear evidence of our activities.
"We'll have to run for it," he said, and took off, bounding over the rocks and breaking into a sprint as soon as he hit sand. I watched him run, the sun glorious on his skin and blinding when he ran headlong into the sea and dived forward without slowing down. He loved swimming and I loved watching him. He waded back into the shallows as I jogged over.
"You won't get clean if you only go in up to your ankles," he stated, wrapping his arms round my thighs and heading for deeper water. I shrieked and laughed and fought with him in vain.
"Let me go!"
At that he complied, hoisting me into the air. I revelled in my victory for a fleeting second before I hit the water and the waves closed over my head. I surfaced, spluttering, and he was standing in the sunlight laughing.
We spent the rest of that day swimming and splashing each other. We walked home in rolled-up jeans and bare feet, carrying our shirts and shoes, arms wrapped around each other.
I smile, remembering the simple joy of that day, and so many others like it. It hurts that he is gone, but I should not allow the grief and the guilt to hound me into the grave after him. I loved him, I love him still, but he is gone, and I will learn to let him go. I will hold on to the good things and remember the silly and beautiful man I loved.
The tide has started to go out again. I walk along the wet sand and peer into a rock pool. I poke a sea anemone and laugh as it grips my finger.